momentum, slamming my back into the door of an upright freezer. I hit hard, rocking it back and falling to the floor in front of it. The door swung open, and a good portion of the contents spilled out on top of me. Abject horror welled up from the pit of my stomach, as amid packages wrapped in butcher paper, was a woman’s severed head, her clouded, dead eyes staring coldly back at me.
I broke my gaze away, looking up as the shadow of the giant fell over me. His face was bleeding, and that just made him look even more frightening.
I had nothing left. I couldn’t even bring myself to move. I knew I was about to die, and it crossed my mind that the Dark Mother hadn’t even bothered to show her face. If I hadn’t been so paralyzed with fear, I might have laughed at the irony. I’d been cheating Cerridwen for so long now that I’d grown to expect her presence at every turn.
And now, at the moment I was about to finally lose the war, she wasn’t even going to be here to usher me across the bridge.
I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable. My heart was pounding in my ears, and I felt the hot breath of the giant as he bent over me. After a moment, I heard him shuffle away, and then I thought I heard whimpering.
I slowly opened one eye and saw him sitting on the floor in front of me, a scant few feet away, a severed head cradled in the crook of his arm. He was staring at it lovingly, cooing and whimpering softly as he used his free hand to stroke the hair.
I heard shuffling and slowly pushed myself up and looked back to the stairs, my eyes drooping as I struggled to remain conscious. Standing a few feet away was Ben, his pistol stiffly aimed at the large man. My friend’s face was a mask of sickened disbelief as he watched on.
I heard him slowly mutter, “Jeezus fuckin’ Christ…”
The sounds of footsteps thudded above us, creaking on the floorboards in a strict, determined search pattern as backup arrived and entered the house.
Monday, October 7th
2:43 P.M.
St. Louis, Missouri
CHAPTER 43:
“I still can’t believe it,” Ben said, looking over at me. “She seemed like she was okay.”
We were sitting on my deck, looking over the back yard. Leaves were layered in a spotty carpet across the lawn, piles built up here and there. A wheelbarrow and a pair of broom rakes were still lying exactly where Felicity and I had left them in a rush just a few days before. The cover on the compost pile was thrown back, corner flapping in the gentle breeze. Again, just as we had left it.
The sky was grey with a heavy stratum of clouds. It had rained the night before, but it hadn’t been a major storm front, just a quiet, gentle sprinkle.
A cold, endless, and depressing October sprinkle.
The loamy smell of the damp leaves filled the air, providing an earthy backdrop to the pungent aroma of our cigars. I continued staring out across the lawn, absently thinking about work I needed to be doing and finding a million excuses to avoid it.
“Hey, white man,” my friend prodded quietly. “You hear me?”
“Yeah,” I replied quietly, my voice a thin whisper. “Me either.”
I brought my cigar up and tucked it in the corner of my mouth. I puffed, but nothing happened. I pulled it out and regarded the business end without emotion. I stuck it back between my teeth and reached into my jacket pocket for a match.
My right hand was still wrapped in gauze. Several stitches had been required to close the wounds across my knuckles. There was a hand-shaped bruise square in the center of my chest that had already cycled into several bright shades of purple. My entire body was sore. I didn’t even have to move to feel the aches, and the damp air wasn’t helping. But, it didn’t matter.
I was finding it hard to really care about anything right now.
I fumbled with a wooden match, trying to strike it using my bandaged hand and succeeded only in breaking it in two. Ben reached over and took the box from me, ignited a match, then cupped it in his hand and held it forth so I could re-light my cigar.
I puffed carefully, using my left hand to twist the stogie as I drew on it, then pulled it away and inspected the end, blowing a gentle stream of smoke at the glowing coal.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“Not a problem,” he returned as he shook out the flame and flicked the charred wooden stub over the railing.
“I need a drink,” I announced.
“No you don’t,” he replied.
“Yes I do.”
“Trust me, white man,” he returned. “You don’t. ‘Specially not right now. Give it some time.”
We continued sitting in silence for several minutes. Several feet beyond the deck railing a small flock of birds were pecking at the ground around one of the feeders. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Emily, our calico cat, stalking them.
“Just doesn’t seem right,” he said.
“Can we talk about something else?” I asked, swallowing hard after the words.
“Yeah,” he said, paused, then offered, “Albright’s pissed.”
I couldn’t say much for his choice of new topics, but I went along with it anyway. I didn’t have the energy to do anything else.
“Like I care?” I replied.
He nodded. “Yeah, I know. Guess it was to be expected, huh.”
“She making life hard on you?”
“A bit, but I’ll survive. I always do.”
“Yeah. You do.”
“By the way, talked to Mandalay this mornin’,” he offered. “She asked about ya’.”
“She okay?”
“Yeah. Needin’ ta’ talk. The shooting at the gas station was the first time she’d ever had to kill anyone.”
“And it was a kid.”
“Yeah.”
“She in trouble?”
“A little. She’s on administrative leave. They aren’t too hot on the fact that she left the scene, but considerin’ the circumstances she’ll come out okay.”
“Good.”
“They were brother and sister, you know,” my friend said, switching subjects again.
“Yeah, you told me.”
“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “Guess I did.”
I shifted in my chair, trying to get comfortable. I wasn’t succeeding.
“They tested the brother,” he offered. “Got an IQ of fifty-two.”
“Too bad,” I murmured.
“Why do ya’ say that?”
I looked over at him, unable to muster an expression and simply said, “Because with an IQ that low, our judicial system will let the bastard live.”
“Yeah, prob’ly,” he answered, and then sighed before continuing. “The sister is the real sick one.”
“They’re both sick, Ben.”
